After about a million sleepless nights, walking through the flat with a little firespitting dragon in my arms, I wonder what exactly they mean with “the joy of being a parent”. That is, until our little dragon opens his mouth not to scream but to smile a toothless (and as of yet rather undirected) smile, or until he laughs loudly out of nowhere. Then I understand what they mean. Luckily for us, we mentioned in our appartment lease that the floor is sub-par, so they cannot complain when they take it back and there are little walkways engraved in the hallway (a bit like the stone floor in old churches).
Anyways, being the daddy, I always have to stop myself from complaining too much, seeing how taxing this joy of parenthood is for my lovely wife. She is beeing sucked dry every two hours (you can more or less set the clock), being abused as a “Schnulli”, and trying to take care of her hubby at the same time. The last part I try to minimise (remove it I cannot, she won’t allow me to do so), but about the other things there is just nothing I can do to help. Other than changing nappies. Which I do.
b.
1 Comment
August 27, 2007 at 21:48
Say hi to your little dragon